Under the Moon and Over the Stars
by Zeda
Summary: The timeline of Bloody Roar 2, through Yugo and Kenji's stories. (WARNING: Yugo x Kenji shonen-ai)
1. Slivers of the Moon

TITLE: Under the Moon and Over the Stars AUTHOR: Zeda (the BLK Kitti) STARTED: December 30th, 2000 Ended: GAME: Bloody Roar II PAIRING: Yugo x Kenji(Bakuryu) RATING: PG-13/R/NC-17 (different ratings for different chapters) GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai WARNINGS: A sappilicious tale of a young boy and an older man... who both turn into freakish beasts. ^^; How . . . sweet. SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo find each other in the burning remains of a Tylon laboratory. Yugo takes Kenji into his home and the two begin to develop feelings for one-another. However, things are not destined to go smoothly for them... Random narration by Alice and Busizima, but only in the 1st person for Kenji and Yugo. DISCLAIMER: Characters of Bloody Roar II are property of their rightful owners and companies. Teri, Yuku and Felicity are original characters that I've created. I reserve rights for those three, ^.^" Unless you wanna' do fanart then PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!! AUTHOR'S NOTE: ^_^" It BEGGED to be written!!~ I've seen no other Yugo x Kenji(Bakuryu) fanfics out there, and THAT can frustrate a young, starved yaoi fan!!! Comments go to Zeda at BKoe101725@aol.com MY SITE:   
  
*  
  
". . . Thus began a lonely search to bring back the one Yugo had vowed to protect." -"Yugo's Story", Bloody Roar II  
  
*  
  
PRELUDE: Slivers of the Moon RATING: PG-13 GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo find each other in the burning remains of a Tylon laboratory . . .  
  
*  
. . .  
  
I feel like I'm floating . . .  
  
. . .  
  
Where am I . . .?  
  
. . .  
  
. . .Why is it so dark?  
  
I feel a solid surface beneath my feet and the heat of raging flames . . . but I can't see anything. I can't feel my feet, I only sense that I must have some. Can't feel my hands, though I'm sure that they're there. It's so dark . . . I feel so alone, cold even though I can -feel- burning all around me. I have to flee. . . but I can't move. I can't . . .  
  
What am I even doing here? I don't know. I can't remember . . .  
  
Who am I? I search myself, trying to find the answer . . . but my mind is nothing; blank, absent of all memory. My own name. I can't even remember that . . . it's so fundamental a thing . . . I feel a wave of nauseating fear sweep me at the sense of nothingness, like standing on the edge of some great precipice . . .  
  
The heat billows around me and I'm barely aware of the perspiration coating my flesh. It's so hot . . . Why can't I see the flames?  
  
"Hey, what are you doing here?"  
  
A voice? I hear a voice . . . Someone is calling to me. Who? Where? I want to find the voice; something solid in the dull void encasing my being.  
  
My vision starts to come together, forming out of brackish, muddled darkness into bright flaming colors and a broad shape bobbing; something moving towards me. Tall . . . Much taller than me. The first thing I see . . .  
  
"Hey, answer me!" I see only shapes at first, noticing a darkened shape -a mouth- appearing and moving on the tan shape that is the face of the person before me.  
  
The person . . . a man . . .  
  
I blink and miraculously my vision is clear, like there was a film coating my eyes that need only be blinked away; a murky cell-thin membrane separating me from vision. He's . . .  
  
He's tall, like I was able to tell even before my vision was cleared, and his lightish brown hair ruffles in the scalding hot wind rolling off of the open, viscous flames. The flame casts him in bright, hot, golden light and it suits him. I find myself ignoring the flames, completely still, looking at him. The first thing I can ever remember seeing . . . Him. The golden eyes hold my attention. An inhuman color, yes . . . but they don't scare me at all. They're just . . .  
  
"You a zoanthrope?" He asks me, mouth forming the words in what seems slow motion. I watch silently, perplexed.  
  
'Zoanthrope'? I . . . I've heard that word before . . . I wonder what he means? Am I . . .? I blink again and his eyebrows furrow with worry. He's worried . . . for me, maybe? I suppose he thinks I am a . . .  
  
"You'd better get out of here while you can!" His eyes dart about, frantic suddenly at the flames. A droplet of sweat courses down his forehead, along the subtle tan curvature, and I notice the scars . . .  
  
An 'X', that's what it looks like . . . Like someone cruelly aimed twin slashes marr his untainted flesh, marking him with agony for the rest of his life. How . . . how awful! I frown and take a step forward, meaning to . . . what do I mean to do?  
  
I don't realize until I move that my legs feel like jelly, not quite connected to the rest of me. I falter, the white coat I find myself to be wearing streaming out behind me as I stumble into him. Everything's moving so slowly . . .  
  
He doesn't miss a beat and catches me, drawing me into him protectively. I'm rocked by the scent . . . The scent of flames on his clothes, the feel of a hard chest and slightly moist skin hidden beneath the confines of fabric . . . His smell . . . what is it? It can only be described as . . . life. Heat. -Him-. I raise my arms, frail and childlike, and clutch with hands feeling atrophied at his sleeveless jacket. I open my mouth, not certain of what sound will come out, but hoping that I'll be able to speak. To ask . . .  
  
". . . Haaa . . ." A rasp is all that escapes me. I cling helplessly, and I feel the motion as he draws me up and proceeds to carry me away from the flames. I feel his muscles work as he jogs at a rather swift pace, putting blessed distance between us and that horrible burning place . . . It seems no effort for him to tote me as he increases his speed, leaping over some unseen obstacle and continuing onward. I have the oddest sensation of his movements, as if I'm no more than a part of his body as he rushes us away to safety. Away from the burning.  
  
. . . Am I really so frail? So light and weak? I feel a twinge of pain at this, but I know I have no reason to feel this. I forget the brief flash of anguish and press my face into the crook of his neck as I'm lifted to be more easily carried, breathing. I try again, moving my lips to try and form the words more accurately . . .  
  
". . . Who . . ."  
  
He pauses, listening to me. I don't feel the heat of the flames anymore, so I can assume that he's gotten us to safety in even so seemingly short a flight. He must be fast . . . I continue to speak, careful to form the words correctly, for never having spoken . . .  
  
"Who . . . am . . . I?"  
  
There is silence, then I feel a hand in my hair, stroking my head soothingly. I calm down, not even having realized how much I had been shivering.  
  
"Kid . . . you don't remember your name?"  
  
His voice is youthful, husked . . . masculine. I suddenly feel disappointed in my own light, weak, childish tone of voice.  
  
I shake my head, moving it against his neck. ". . . No . . ."  
  
He makes to let me go and I tense. No! Don't let me go, please don't let me go! I'll forget . . . You, the flames, your eyes . . .  
  
I look up into the deep blue overhead, seeing the silver glowing sphere there.  
  
. . . The moon . . .  
  
I've been successfully unlatched from his neck before I even realize it and I look back at him, blinking slowly. He's cast in cold light now, but his golden eyes are still burning softly with the warmth that the fire didn't create . . .  
  
Tenderness.  
  
"My name's Yugo," He says softly, patting me on the head and remaining bent down to speak to me at my level. I feel so small . . . weak, by compare . . . Just a child to him . . .  
  
"You . . . have no place to go?"  
  
I shake my head 'no'. He must have guessed that already, right? He just wanted to ask . . . get an 'OK' from me?  
  
"Then . . ." He straightens. Towering over me, but I don't feel threatened, not by him, never by him . . . He extends a hand to me, smiling softly. ". . .Come with me. You can stay at my house."  
  
I feel a swell in my chest. What is it? A heart attack? I concentrate on the feeling in my chest, examining it quietly.  
  
No . . . I'm not in physical pain . . . then what?  
  
". . . Well?" He cocks his head at me and awaits my response, his expression and action making him resemble a curious puppy.  
  
Cute.  
  
". . . Yes," I nod as I say it, extending my hand and taking his offered one. I furrow my eyebrows when I see how very small my hand is by compare to his. . . He's so much more of a man . . . His fingers close around mine and any feeling if inadequacy falters. I'm not so small . . . He's gentle . . .  
  
Yes. I'll live with you . . .  
  
Yugo.  
  
*  
  
I pull out the keys to my apartment, unlocking and opening the front door. I know it looks suspicious from the hallway: a grizzled-looking young man dragging a willowy little boy-child around by the hand. I have only been here for a couple of weeks, after all . . .  
  
Well, at least the superintendent's not the type you see in movies and TV shows. The type that snoops around their tenant's rooms, asking questions and glaring suspiciously, as if they have no life but that formed by taunting and snooping.  
  
I have a higher-class apartment than that!  
  
The sound of my plain brown army boots clopping against the pale wooden floor echoes into my apartment, the sound reverberating off of the sparse furnishings and the off-white, blank walls.  
  
There's very little to keep sound from richocheting in my home, and not just because I've newly moved in. There's only a plain couch, an entertainment system in its position in front of the couch, a coffee table and a dining table with three chairs over by the window in line of sight. I frown at the idea that I, the host, have no better to offer my young guest.  
  
I turn to see his reaction, expecting scrutiny or disappointment for the largely empty state of my home -our home. However . . .  
  
His copper/gold eyes are wide with awe, even though his mouth remains closed solemnly. He does that a lot, I've noticed . . . I don't think he himself realizes how he's shifting nervously, standing at the threshold into my apartment.  
  
I smile at him, hoping to calm him some. "It's okay! Nothing's gonna' jump out and bite you!"  
  
He looks at me worriedly and I feel a shot of pain. I smile, trying . . . *trying* to ease his wariness. He smiles feebly, a simple upward quirk of the corners of his mouth that seems so sadly foreign an act for him, and takes a timid step into my apartment. For a moment I'm afraid that he'll fall again, but he miraculously remains upright.  
  
He crosses the threshold gracefully, the white coat he's wearing fluttering lightly. What kind of fabric *is* that? Hell . . . just the slightest movement and it . . .  
  
He looks up through tresses of midnight blue hair, up at me as he walks closer. Closer.  
  
I blink. Why's he getting . . .?  
  
He throws his arms around me rather without warning, pressing his small form into me. For warmth? For safety?  
  
I look down at the top of his head, feeling a shiver when I see the back of his pale throat. "Kid . . .?"  
  
"What'll my name be?" I hear his soft voice, muffled through the fabric of my shirt and jacket. He sounds lost, uncertain . . . As if so very much hinges on his possession of a name.  
  
I blink down at him. ". . . You want *me* to name you?"  
  
He moves his head back and looks up at me, eyelids lowered slightly. "Yes. Who else?"  
  
I lower my eyes and feel my face burn from the sensation of blush. He's vesting such an honor in me . . . I feel suddenly excited! It's like naming a new pet, only three times better! I try to think, scanning through the possibilities . . . Family names, the silly chatter of future-planning girls from my elementary school days . . . I've always thought, if I had a son, I'd name him Kenji . . . Kenji Ohgami.  
  
It's really a no-brainer, actually.  
  
"I'll call you Kenji," I declare happily, then chaste myself, looking down at him imploringly. "That is, if that's alright with you . . .?"  
  
He smiles softly and nods. "My name's Kenji . . ." He announces quietly, as if concreting the idea in his mind, causing it to solidify in reality. He plays with the name, the word, the pronunciation . . . Over and over. It's actually rather cute. He looks genuinely interested as he forms each syllable, eyes wide with interest. "Ken . . . Jee. . . Kehn . . . Jeee . . ."  
  
I smile and nod, ruffling his unruly blue hair. "Yeah!"  
  
Wow . . . I still can't believe it . . . another living being, in my care . . . in my home . . . whom I named . . .  
He loosens his hold on me, looking around with such a curious expression on his pale young face . . . His eyes are wide as he looks over the couch, peers at the television for a moment, appraises the stereo system nestled just next to it. He takes a couple of steps about to view the room more conveniently, but never steps more than two feet away from me. It's as if he thinks that it'll all didintegrate if he leaves the area of my body heat . . .  
  
He suddenly turns and presses into me again, yawning slowly.  
  
"Ahh, Kenji," I like using his name, and by the touched look in his eyes he likes having one. "You must be tired, eh?"  
  
He nods slowly. "Where do I . . .?"  
  
I saw it coming. "No worries. You can sleep in my bed!" I pat his head softly, liking the feel of blue silk under my fingertips. "I'll sleep on the couch."  
  
He looks upset, about to protest . . . but no. I'm a courteous man. I shake my head and, as if on cue, he closes his half-parted lips. He knows . . .  
  
He thrusts his hand into mine immediately, waiting to be led. I oblige, leading him down the hallway with me. He glances about curiously as I pull him into the bathroom, blinking at the high-watt light concentrated on the counter from the ceiling lights.  
  
". . . Yugo?"  
  
He looks devastatingly innocent and confused and I can't help smiling. "We'll get you changed for bed."  
  
He blinks, looking hopelessly lost. ". . . Changed?" He looks down at himself. ". . . My form . . .?"  
  
Exasperation floods me for a moment before I recall his lack of substantial memory. "No, Kenji," I gesture to his white coat, still in his line of self-examining vision. "Your clothes."  
  
His eyebrows rise as if he's reached an epiphany. "Aaaah . . ."  
  
I smile and turn to my hamper.  
  
Now, I know I've gotta' have some spare boxers *somewhere*. . . Aha! I raise a pair of plain blue boxers triumphantly, then continue on the search for a nightshirt. So young and frail, he'll need one to keep from becoming cold . . .  
  
With equal enthusiasm, I lift the one and only button-down shirt I own. Been a long time since I saw *that* one . . .! Maybe I need to do the laundry tomorrow . . .  
  
"Here, change into these!" I suggest in a cheery tone, turning...  
  
He's naked.  
  
I blush and cover my eyes quickly, making a sharp sound of surprise as I do so. THAT was certainly NOT what I was expecting to find . . .! Being a nearly-grown only child meant that I'd never seen anyone younger than myself nude, and even then I was only in high school long enough to have PE for a year and a half, and that was the only time I'd seen boys -my- age naked . . . I pushed down that sickly kind of tingle in my belly -surely a sign of the embarassment I was feeling.  
  
There is silence, then I look again, concentrating on only his youthful, confused expression. "Er . . . Kenji? What . . .?" I glance quickly to the floor and see only the white coat.  
  
. . .*Only* the white coat . . .?  
  
I blush. He was wearing only that . . . the *WHOLE TIME*?!  
  
He seems unfazed, reaching out and snatching the boxers and shirt from my fingers, not making a single move to cover himself.  
  
"What's wrong, Yugo?" He inquires, cocking an eyebrow at me as if I'm the one acting abnormal. I blush deeper, concentrating so that my eyes don't mistakenly wander . . .  
  
I stare dumbly as he pulls on the oversized boxers, pulling the string beyond tight to make them fit his thin frame. The dress shirt does better, appearing much more flattering to his delicate frame than the boxers; looking much better in it's looseness. He only looks young, begging to be hugged.  
  
I wrap him up in a blanket and lead him to my bedroom, smiling to him and politely answering curious inquiries as we pass by the kitchen, the balcony, a single family photo resting on a mini table in the hall . . .  
  
He stops asking questions once he hits the cushions on my waterbed. Not a single glance of awe around the sparingly furnished room is had, his eyes drifting closed and his movements stilling almost instantly on contact with the rippling, soft bed.  
  
I chuckle softly. Waterbeds can do that to a person, ne? I reach down for the comforter and draw it upward, careful not to stir him from his immediate slumber.  
  
I smile excitedly despite myself. I'm tucking him into bed! Id've never thought I, Yugo the Wolf, would *ever* tuck *anyone* into bed! I look down at the still form beneath the warmth of the covers, the thick dark lashes lain on the pale cheeks, and smile. The hard core in me softens . . .  
  
. . . He's my little one . . .  
  
I stroke his hair and lean forward, planning on getting up and retreating to my not-so welcoming couch cushions. Man, hospitality can be a bitch sometimes . . .  
  
". . . please . . .?"  
  
I pause at the beckon of his quiet voice and turn to look at him. He's opened his eyes to half-mast and is gazing at me. He's got a cute frown on his face . . .  
  
"What is it, Kenji?" I coo gently.  
  
He looks worried. ". . . Would you . . . sleep with me tonight?"  
  
I smile gently. "Don't worry, kid," I stand and kick off my boots, pulling off my jacket and my pants in a method just as absent of ceremony. In my boxers and tee shirt, I lift the blanket and crawl into bed with him. I feel extremely loved and depended-on when he squirms closer, snuggling into my chest immediately, like he truly needs me there with him. I smile, drawing him close and closing my eyes. I suppose I've never felt needed like this before . . .ne?  
  
No children. No girlfriends. No brothers or sisters to speak of . . .  
  
Wow . . . This really *is* my first time . . . Being needed . . .  
  
"I'll be here for you," I breath softly, the alien scent of his hair in my nostrils. Like a true wolf, I'll file away your scent in my memory.  
  
My family now. Mine.  
  
"I'll protect you."  
  
*  
  
End Prelude 


	2. Warmth of the Sun

CHAPTER 1: Warmth of the Sun RATING: PG-13 GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo have formed a life together. Yugo has become a professional boxer and Kenji is attending a local school. However, emotions brew just below the cool exterior of their public faces; Kenji filled with half-realized memories and Yugo filled with confusion over his strange feelings . . .  
  
*  
  
I poke at the scrambled eggs with my fork curiously, watching the yellow, globular mass quiver at the metallic intrusion of the utensil, sitting like a lump in it's own off-yellow watery pool. The grease fairly oozes over the malformed mass of congealed yolk and white, giving the whole mountain of it a kind of sickly flourescent gleam in the kitchen lighting.  
  
Ewww . . .  
  
"Kenji," I hear Yugo scold teasingly as he uses a spatula to flip some more pancakes into his plate, turning to throw a sweet smile over his shoulder at me. "It's edible! Don't poke at it like it's a science experiment!"  
  
I frown at him, trying to look like an upset puppy. Maybe if I make that face he'll decide not to make me eat it . . . He can always do it to -me-. "I don't think it's inedible! It's just . . ." I look back down at the yellowish heap on my plate, trying to find the correct words to describe it . . . some eloquent adjective or phrase . . .  
  
". . . Weird looking."  
  
Yugo snorts and walks to the table, bearing the heaping platter of pancakes. "Aww, at least try it . . .!" There's that puppy face . . . His golden eyes twinkle. ". . . For -me- . . .??"  
  
I bite my bottom lip. I could never refuse that face . . . He knows it, too, even after the short time that we've been together.  
  
I sigh and fork some of the sticky, shiny yellow mess into my mouth. I make a face at the strange, grease and eggy taste of it, but continue chewing. It'd be rude to not eat Yugo's cooking, wouldn't it? . . . Though it may just be the death of me . . .  
  
He smiles at me as he finishes drowning his pancakes in dark, brown syrup, covering the almost ridiculously tall stack entirely with a coat of liquid dark. "Tell me what you think?"  
  
I swallow, unhappy with the slick sticky feeling as it slides down my throat, like a heavy unhealthy mass working its way down into my belly. Oh dear god, it's so disgusting-! However . . . I watch Yugo's expectant expression . . .  
  
I force a smile. "Yeah. It's not so bad . . ." I inwardly sigh. I'm a bad liar . . .  
  
He reaches across the table and ruffles my hair, smiling warmly.  
  
Warmly . . .  
  
"Hey, I'm not gonna' make you eat a single bite if you don't want to, Kenji . . ." He informs me, as if I wasn't already certain he'd never force me to do anything I didn't like and as if I wasn't even more certain that just a moment ago I'd choked-down something horrible just to see him smile. He lifts the spatula and scoops up a pancake, sliding it into my plate, at the same time removing his other hand from my steel blue hair. "You can have this, or whatever else you'd like,"  
  
I smile softly and nod, reaching for a banana and the jug of orange juice, and set up my breakfast plate. There . . . despite what's left of the deformed yellow heap of egg, my plate looks rather appetizing now. As I sip my orange juice and fork syrupy pancake into my mouth, my mind drifts.  
  
It's been more than a year since Yugo found me. He told me later that the burning place was actually a Tylon laboratory being destroyed around me and that I was being held captive there for some reason . . . I can't remember myself and I suppose it's all largely assumption on Yugo's part, but I believe him. I trust his deduction. However, he doesn't know and cannot guess much more about my past than what he already has.  
  
It's weird not remembering, but Yugo says my memory will return eventually, if I can just wait. I'm content to wait, here with Yugo by my side.  
  
Here, I'm safe.  
  
Warm and protected.  
  
Protected by -him-.  
  
Still . . . I don't feel quite right . . .  
  
I feel like I'm forgetting something horrible. Something that lies sleeping, dormant in the depths of my mind.  
  
Sometimes I start to remember. I'll get a sense of déjà vu when I pass by a building or I'll get a flash of a half-realized image or memory . . . I'll wake up from a nightmare late at night, in a cold sweat, with Yugo sleeping peacefully on the other side of the room.  
  
I start to remember . . . but then I feel that I -shouldn't-. As if remembering will set in motion some horrible event . . .  
  
What is this sense of dread that torments me? I hate it . . . It's like some dark, ghastly memory, fighting its way to the surface of my mind. Only, something's keeping it down.  
  
I'm afraid that just wondering about it will move the metal seal that keeps my demons away . . .  
  
No! I mustn't remember! I have to keep it buried inside me! I don't know what it is, but I know that I SHOULDN'T remember!  
  
I'm happy now. Happy with this life that Yugo and I have made. I watch him eat his scrambled eggs quietly as he glances over the funnies section of the newspaper, and I have to smile.  
  
I like this place. I like -him-. I like the life that we have built together in this tiny apartment.  
  
No matter what, I don't want it to change. I don't want our happiness to escape us, and I want us to be together . . .  
  
. . . Forever.  
  
*  
  
For the past fifteen months, I've lived with Kenji. I've watched happily as his silence turned to smiles, and every day he seems to grow more and more spirited. At first, he was absolutely quiet. Sort of robotic, even. The most he did was cling to me, coo questions to me and glance around curiously. He was so silent and timid then . . .  
  
And at first, the dependence he had on me was cute: as if I had a little brother or a son of my own.  
  
Then, as time passed . . . I started . . .  
  
I remember I must have realized when I first had to show him how to bathe. He didn't know how himself (at first he would stare at me and lift his arms, as if he expected to be hosed-off), so I had to help him.  
  
I only felt a little red-in-the-face from blush as I instructed him, scrubbed his back for him, talked him through the process of washing himself with the bar of Dove soap I provided. It's one of those things you never think you'd have to show a person . . .  
  
At the time, I didn't think much of it. He came out properly cleaned and smelling nice, and I seemed unfazed by the whole experience.  
  
However . . .  
  
It didn't seem so innocent an event when I started having dreams about him. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, panting hotly after having fallen asleep on the couch late at night, with Kenji asleep in our bedroom. I'd have had a dream about soaping up his pale skin, watching the water cascade over his lithe form, kissing his soft lips, sliding my hands over the slick wet body. I'd wake up, and I'd be . . .  
  
I couldn't stand it! How could I think of the boy like that? He was just a child!  
  
After the dreams started, I had to really concentrate on not reacting when he hugged me or cooed at me. I just couldn't keep the memories of my dreams out of my head when he was near me. I seemed to go out of my way to make it hard for myself to sleep in the same room with him. I wish I could make even that little bit more in the way of cash, maybe get us a bigger apartment so he can have his own bedroom, but all of my excess is sapped for tuition and school supplies and everything else that Kenji's education demands. I want him to have his own bed and give us that distance, and yet all I wanna' do is wrap him up in my arms and hold him. Every time his coppery eyes glint at me, every time he brushes his long, pale fingers through his deep bluish hair . . . I feel myself swoon underneath the calm exterior.  
  
I . . . can't help it.  
  
As we sit together (as we always do), eating breakfast before he goes off to school . . . I can't stand that he chose a banana over an orange for today's side fruit. It's always one or the other, and nowadays it's always a torture . . .  
  
True, if he'd chosen the orange, I'd occupy myself with watching the juice drip down his chin . . . but a banana! It's worse because it's so phallic . . . Because when he leaves I might be hard . . .  
  
God dammit . . . I HATE my imagination . . .  
  
He doesn't seem to be paying attention, lost in thought (As he often is. He's such an introspective boy . . . Sometimes it seems like so much is going on inside his head, I could never even hope to comprehend it all) as he un-peels the banana. I bite my lip, trying to appear calm as I divert my eyes and shovel more pancakes into my mouth, as if I can douse my dirty thoughts with soft pancake and syrup. My mental mantra starts up again . . .  
  
_Don't look, don't look, don't look . . ._  
  
I look as he opens his small, pretty mouth and slides it in, taking a bite off of the tip of the bananaI quickly avert my eyes, feeling a burning sensation light up behind them, feeling the rush of euphoria that told me I was definately turning red in the face. . .  
  
Dammit, dammit, dammit . . .!  
  
His coppery eyes seem truly distracted as he chews slowly, then I can't keep my eyes from watching his long pale throat contract slightly as he swallows.  
  
. . . I'm such a pervert . . . I'm such a horrible bastard for just staring and thinking these things . . . Kenji's my only, my family, my everything . . . Why should my libido ruin it for us?  
  
Suddenly, his copper eyes shoot wide open and he jerks around, looking frantically to the clock. I jump myself, startled by his sudden movements, almost falling out of my chair.  
  
"OH MY GOD! I'M LATE!" He shrieks loudly, jumping up from the table and rushing off to our bedroom like a bolt.  
  
I'm only alone for a moment before he races back into the kitchen, now with his school uniform jacket on. He races around the kitchen like a chicken with its head chopped off, eyes darting about desperately.  
  
I sigh, smiling at him. ". . .Your school bag's on the couch, Kenji,"  
  
He turns and throws his arms around my neck quickly, not giving a second thought to kissing me on my jaw line, right in front of my ear. It's just a peck of a kiss, but to a man starved for psysical affection it seems like so much more . . .  
  
"Thanks, Yugo!" He chirps his gratitude, detaching from my neck and spinning on the heel of his sneaker, racing to get his bag and depart. "Bye! I'll see you after school . . . Have fun boxing today!"  
  
Then, in a rush of black uniform and blue locks . . . he's gone.  
  
And, just as I thought I would be, I'm shamefully aroused.  
  
God damned banana . . .  
  
*  
  
I grunt softly as I lift a weight in my hand and pump it once, then the other. Realizing that I'm sweaty from the workout, I set down the weights and sigh, utterly exhausted.  
  
From the very beginning, my diminutiveness by compare to Yugo has annoyed me. I was so much weaker, frailer . . . -girlier- than he was. Even though he was always good to me and the way his golden eyes glistened as they peered into mine always made me lose all feelings of inadequacy, the comparison was still painfully there.  
  
So, it wasn't very long before I started exercising in order to gain the strength that I needed to close the gap between his masculinity and my own relative frailty.  
  
My voice is still girly, and when I complained to Yugo about it, he said 'No it isn't, it's already changed by the sound of it!"  
  
I'd frowned at that suggestion, and Yugohad smiled and, as always, ruffled my hair.  
  
I like it when he does that . . .  
  
I look at the clock, toweling myself of sweat idly.  
  
6:05. Yugo should be home from his boxing match soon...  
  
I put the weights back in their proper places and go to the bathroom, throwing my towel in the hamper and peeling my sweat-soaked clothes off. I'll take a shower before he comes home . . . I want to smell clean and fresh when he gets home, not reek of sweat and testosterone.  
  
I chuckle softly. _However, Yugo'll be pretty sweaty and dirty himself . . . There's really no point in me being clean, but still . . . I want to look my best for Yugo when he comes home._  
  
I step into the shower and turn on the hot water, but the thought of Yugo lingers... I feel tingly for a moment, and I feel my chest ache.  
  
That same ache . . . It hasn't gone away since Yugo first found me. It's not a physical, painful ache . . . but I can't describe it otherwise. It's this feeling . . . like a soft, warm coil tightening in my chest; like a sun-hot flower suddenly blossoming. It's only ever happened when I thought of him, or looked into his eyes, or listened to him talk. I wonder about it a moment, this mysterious tingle-ache . . . It's so mysterious; one of the emotions that I haven't quite decoded yet. I close my eyes and step under the rushing water, imagining Yugo . . .  
  
Yugo's smiling face as he enters our apartment, sweaty from the match and yet unmarred by bruises. He's such a good fighter; rarely does anyone even get one punch in on him! I think of the familiar evening: Yugo has cocoa or some other drink with me and we sit down to watch the TV together. He'll talk about the match or the practice or something else and I'll talk about school or going out or something else. Then, the evening will stretch on and we might do go out for dinner at a restaurant or he'll try his hand at home cooking (no matter how dread the results may be, the attempt in itself is sweet). Then, we always end it by going to bed.  
  
Bed . . .  
  
My heart's been swelling the whole time, but I suddenly feel a cold, pleasant chill up my back, even in the heat of the shower.  
  
. . . When I was younger, we shared the same bed, and after I finally got my own, there were still nights that I'd crawl into bed with him to escape the nightmares . . .  
  
. . . If only . . .  
  
I suddenly shake my head at that last inclination, shocked by myself. I blush and make quick work of shampooing my hair and scrubbing myself.  
  
  
  
I make a small noise as the memory rushes back to me. When Yugo told me how to wash myself . . .  
  
I continue soaping myself, trying to ignore the memory. My hands draw the soap bar over my chest and I blush, wondering . . .  
  
. . . Would Yugo touch me there? . . .  
  
Then, my eyes shoot open and I frown, shaking my head vigorously, water flying from the damp tendrils and smashing against the shower walls. No! I shouldn't be thinking like that!!  
  
Yugo . . . Yugo and I will live happily together . . . I don't want to ruin it by acting like a hormonal schoolgirl! We've built this beautiful world . . . Yugo has given me a chance at being human . . . I swear, I will not ruin it!  
  
*  
  
I stand outside the door to our apartment, scared to come in.  
  
I know. Big old Yugo the Wolf, afraid? Must be pretty horrible . . .  
  
But no. All that awaits me behind this door is Kenji . . .  
  
-MY- Kenji . . .  
  
I furrow my eyebrows and frown solemnly. I . . . I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep myself from doing anything stupid around Kenji . . . I'm starting to snap. Every waking moment is spent dwelling in thoughts of him, in my own self-imposed agony of love and lust. Every day, it's a certainty that I'll want to kiss him or hold him, just a little . . . but . . . but it's -wrong-! All this time, waiting and wanting him . . . and he's a -boy-. A -young- boy, at that!  
  
I take a deep breath, clearing my mind . . . and sigh it out as I enter . . .  
  
Kenji looks up from setting something down on the small dinner table, eyes seeming to light-up instantly as I enter. Kenji . . .  
  
"Yugo!~" He leaps on me the moment I'm in the door, hugging me happily. Wait . . . he smells like . . . food . . .?  
  
He steps back and smiles and I notice that he's in an apron, the beat- up and long suffering ragged blue apron we've had for years. I blink.  
  
"I made us dinner," He informs me sweetly, grabbing my hand after I close the door and pulling me with him to the dining table. I blink perplexedly as I see the elaborate setting . . .  
  
A lit candle sits in the center of the table, two table settings on either side of it (so that we'll be looking at each other through the whole meal . . .). The napkins and silverware are delicately placed, perfectly placed. There's a bowl of food for each of us already set in the exact center of the plates. Despite the fact that our kitchen ware is -anything- but spectacular, the table looks glorious . . . fit for any upscale restaurant!  
  
He gazes up at me, blushing in the dim light. His copper eyes twinkle amber in the candle glimmer. ". . . What do you think?"  
  
I smile widely, eyes misting. He went to all this trouble, just for me? "It's -wonderful-, Kenji!" I turn to him and hug him, mussing his hair affectionately. He smells sweet . . . so sweet . . .  
  
I let go and look down at him, still smiling. "How'd you make this?"  
  
Kenji looks down and to the side, smiling slightly, as if embarassed. "I . . . went out and bought chicken and shrimp. We already had rice . . . so it wasn't too hard to put it all in the wok and cook it."  
  
I blink. ". . . We have a wok?"  
  
He looks up at me shyly, smiling softly. ". . . I got us one," He smiles even more brightly at that revelation. "The only cookbook you had was 'Specialty Cooking for the Wok', and I've been saving up, so . . ."  
  
He looks so sweet . . . He went through all the trouble.  
  
My chastity snaps.  
  
I reach out and cup his chin. He was smiling and looking at me before, but when I touch his face he stops smiling, looking up at me and merely pausing. His lips are parted and he looks a bit confused, cheeks turning a soft pink. ". . . Yugo?"  
  
I lean forward, our lips so close I can feel his breath on mine as he gasps. I close my eyes and our lips brush gently . . .  
  
I give him a quick kiss on the lips, so light I can't even be sure if I really kissed him.  
  
I'm shocked at myself, suddenly mortified at my brashness, but I am a quick man. I pull away and smile at him, trying to make it seem as if it were just a friendly gesture rather than . . . anything else. Trying to cover-up before I ruin everything.  
  
"Thank you, Kenji," I chirp thanks, gesturing to his seat. "Join me?"  
  
He's still blushing, still staring at me, as if cautiously guessing at my intent here . . . but he chuckles softly, shaking off the wonder and confusion, and slides into his seat quietly. "I have soy sauce too, in case you want some."  
  
I look at the bottle and raise my eyebrows.  
  
He laughs. "Yeah, I bought some of that, too."  
  
*  
  
^^" I don't care if that was dirty, . . . they're not *really* brothers, remember?? And ya gotta' admit, the banana cursing was funny . . . P.S., you can't read the rest of the UtMOtS story on Fanfiction.net anymore due to the bann on NC-17 stories, so go to my Bloody Roar Yaoi Shrine ( ) or AdultFanFiction.net ( look in GamesBloody Roar and you'll find me) 


End file.
